


Get a Goddamn Nightlight, Detective

by vwhale



Category: Mobsterswitch - Fandom, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 02:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwhale/pseuds/vwhale
Summary: Inny shows up and Deadeye laments over his repressed feelings.





	Get a Goddamn Nightlight, Detective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [detectiwe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=detectiwe).



Prospitain eyes were never meant for the dark. This, unfortunately for you, resulted in more stubbed toes and late-night stumblings than would be expected of a distinguished detective in a city with no sun. It was times like this, when you were perched on the edge of your bed nursing a toe you only barely convinced yourself wasn’t broken, that you missed home. Maybe a visit was in order-- you could drop by and suffer through the unwelcoming, cold atmosphere of your father, get hit once again with the vacuum your mother left behind. Maybe bring back a gift for Innovator, or something bright and frilly to piss off Scofflaw. Not that you thought about them-- but you most definitely thought about them.

The sound of ink is a distinguished one. It’s rare and quiet, but distinctly glistening and wet. You’ve gotten used to the sound enough to anticipate what it means; one of the two is here, and you aren’t sure which one you’d rather it be. For a long moment, neither of you talk, and you catch yourself wondering if it was simply your ears playing tricks on you. You can’t see him- whoever it is- in the dark, and he’s taking advantage of that. 

The hand that touches your face is soft, slender, all long and delicate fingers. 

“Oh, it’s you.” It surprises you that what comes out of your mouth isn’t a reprimand or an objection, allowing Innovator to slide into your lap, straddle you, and hold your face in silence. He’s taller than you, and it’s always a little awkward when he gets into your lap, but you somehow end up here every time, your arms loose at his waist, his face nuzzling your neck and shoulder gently. Like a cat. It’s cute, if nonverbal men who broke into apartments at 4 in the morning could be called cute. 

This one can, at least.

Your hand slides upwards, stroking over his back, gently pulling his hat off and placing it on the bed next to you. It’s sweet for a moment, until his hand leaves its place on your shirt, rising to touch your face. 

“Deadeye, I… I, ah.” He’s already struggling to get it out, and you sigh. Maybe something was wrong, and he was here for comfort again. You were only just getting used to him around without doing the emotional gymnastics of comforting him, really, the two of you were just starting to peek into each other’s lives without disruption-- you haven’t even reprimanded him for breaking in, yet, and he was going to probably cry on you when you’d rather just hold him and make tea, but--

“Please. I w-wa-want you.” Oh. “I just-- please? I want, _real_ a-affection, not the shit you manufacture to placate me.” _Oh._

“I didn’t know you noticed.” That wasn’t the right thing to say, you were trying. You were. These things weren’t easy on good days, but _emotions?_ You were full of them as always, and, as always, had no clue how to understand them well enough to mean it when you pet his hair, or rubbed small circles into his waist. He’s tightening his hold on your shirt with one hand, the other’s fingers curling against your cheek.   
“No- Inny, please. I’m not-- here.” You hated this part, with the words and the hurt feelings. You can’t fix it with words, as competent as you felt at times, this was not your area. So it’s with a sincere gentleness that you pull his face upwards with a few soft fingers, pressing a quiet, sweet kiss to his lips. Barely a graze, a gentle touch, but he’s melting into you. 

“I just- I don’t, don’t know if you mean it or not, and I-I-” He trails off, pulling his face away. You can’t muster up the guts to reassure him, so you’re sweet again, your hands on the side of his neck and face, pushing his hair out of his eyes and looking at him. A long, deep look in the dark- you can only barely make out the glint in the eyes you know are beautiful, but he can see you just fine. And then you kiss him. Again. Deeper. Meaningful. You try your hardest to pour every feeling you don’t understand or want to confront into one little kiss, all the months of hatred and the moral implications of what you were allowing, the confusion over your identity as a lawman, the frustration at your inability to express any of these things, your fondness for him, all of it. Most of it gets lost in translation, as kisses aren’t the most eloquent of languages, but he seems to understand, pressing into you. He’s crawling up over you, those pretty hands on your shoulders, and you slide back onto your bed. It’s not as big and expensive as what he’s used to, simpler, more modest. He makes use of it now, pressing into you, pulling kisses from you almost desperately.

It isn’t until he’s whining underneath you that you realize you’ve switched positions, settled neatly between his legs, the man on his back and grasping at your shirt still. He’s grinding up into you, those pretty little whines escaping him like a melody, and you can still barely see anything. God, would a light kill you? Even a plug-in wall light would be better than nothing… Your train of thought is immediately de-railed by the hand on you, the one that starts on your chest and slides downwards, a bold move from Innovator, who hums happily when you gasp at the feeling of his hand moving over your light arousal. It sends sparks of interest down your spine, has you still for a moment as you register what’s happening. You’re on him again in a moment, sitting backwards to pull his clothes off, and Frog you wished you could see him in the dark, but your hands to the job for you, sliding up his stomach and back down his sides, one smoothing hover his thigh while the other flattens on his chest. You’re familiar with his body by now, but it’s perhaps the first instance you’ve taken your time to appreciate it.

He notices.

“Is something wrong?” There’s worry in his tone, hesitation.

“No, it’s just-- you’re.” You struggle to find the words, frustrated with yourself, before he hushes you with a soft kiss. You’re startled by the sweetness; is this what he’d wanted? Just… sweetness? You’re affording yourself a brief moment of guilt, before you kiss him back, your hand sliding easily between his legs. Fucking hell, he’s wet before you even touch him, shuddering when your fingers find their mark. A quiet exclamation, the sound of your name reaches your ears, a private thing that he never called you. Not your first name, and it hits you hard. 

“Frog, Inny, careful with that. You’ll make me swoon.” You say it softly, still stroking him sweetly, kissing his chest as you do. He’s gasping underneath you, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt, speechless at your unprecedented care. It’s foreign to you, but you’re beginning to love it, the act of lovemaking rather than fucking for the sake of it. 

“D-Dee-Deadeye, _p-please.”_ His stutter is a mess now, as it usually was at this point, but it somehow is endearing rather than grating. “I wa-w-want you, i-inside of me, Dam-Da-Damar--” You cut him off with a kiss before he can finish your name again, not wanting him to have that spell over you. You aren’t ready for it yet, and he seems to understand, quieting to soft moans and pleading whimpers as you pull away. 

The dark doesn’t make it any easier on your stupid hands, before you’re simply shoving yout pajama bottoms down and sucking in a breath as your length springs free; were you really that hard already? He had more of an affect on you than you’d admit yet. A hand reaches out to touch you, soft fingers on your arousal that make your head spin pleasantly, assuming he’s propped himself up to reach you. You lean forward and he finds your lips, pulling you in with the legs he’s hooking around your waist and easing you into himself. 

“Pernicious, fuck,” You’re biting your lip, a light gesture in the face of how good he feels around you, hot and tight and _perfect_. You can hear him sighing in relief, relaxing. Innovator sprawls out against the bed. You can hear it in the sheets.

“M-Move,” He commands, and you obey. It’s slow at first, but he’s making hot little noises and you can’t help yourself, needing him, until he’s clawing into your shirt and crying out soft declarations of adoration. His voice is nothing short of beautiful, mixing in with your own pretty, low sounds of pleasure. You rarely made sound during sex-- it always felt forced and wrong, but this spills out of you. 

_”Fuck, Innovator, my Precious Innovator,”_ You’re-- Fuck, he’s panting, soft moans on each breath as you rock into him, and you can feel yourself losing it fast. He’s always had a beautiful voice, sometimes you think the stutter is the only thing keeping him from hypnotizing you with it. You’re shuddering, and his hand finds yours among the sheets, his beautiful, delicate fingers gripping yours tightly in the rustle of sheets and the soft sound of skin. You, Deadeye Detective, bow your head to catch his lips in a jolting kiss, and he moans, liquid, into your mouth.

“Ah, ah, Deadeye, D-Dead-Deadeye.” He’s gasping it against your mouth, one hand raising to fist into your hair as he pants into the space between you. “P-Please, please, _p-pl-please.”_ You don’t know what he’s pleading for, but you’re on the edge and his small, needy voice is what does it.  
“Inny, baby, _fuck.”_ That’s all it takes, your hips stutter and a shudder rolls up your spine and down your stomach, a low growl melting into the fierce kiss you’re giving him. He’s shaking, whimpering out your name, clinging to you desperately.

You fall beside him, still holding his shaking body, peppering his face with soft kisses. 

Your name is Deadeye Detective, and you don’t really know how to feel; but you’re going to have a wonderful time figuring it out.


End file.
